


neon nights

by lumielle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But it's only implied, Explicit Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Office AU, Pining, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumielle/pseuds/lumielle
Summary: When the quick hookups turned to long, languid nights that left Oikawa’s bedroom windows fogged up, Iwaizumi started questioning himself. When he finally opened his eyes to the fact that he had developed feelings for Oikawa, it was already too late. While Oikawa was wading in the shallows, Iwaizumi had unknowingly fallen into the deep end.





	neon nights

 

A streak of pink shifts across Oikawa’s throat, patches of cyan and yellow dotting his face, as he brings himself up and down in Iwaizumi’s lap. His mouth falls open, his lips plush and red, his fingers firm where they dig into Iwaizumi’s shoulders.

Iwaizumi’s insides are smoldering.

Every time Oikawa slams his hips back down, tightens around him, he’s left breathless. A groan escapes him, and he digs his heels into the mattress, grips Oikawa’s hips harder to thrust up into him, meeting him halfway. Oikawa’s breath hitches, and a jumbled rendition of Iwaizumi’s name rolls off his tongue. The heat and slick friction around him, the noises Oikawa makes, the sweltering air — it all draws a haze around Iwaizumi, drowning him in a cloud of sizzling pleasure. Oikawa’s in control, and he’s set a relentless pace that is too fast and too hot, keeping Iwaizumi chasing after him, always a breath behind. He’s gorgeous, his weight a perfect counter to Iwaizumi’s, the feel of him rising and falling overwhelming. Neon flickers across his skin like strobe lights, the colors dazzling, blinding. Oikawa’s eyes fly open, his hands fluttering to where Iwaizumi’s sit, hovering over them. He meets Iwaizumi’s eyes with a blazing, consuming look, and it’s all Iwaizumi can do to not spill his heart out to him right then.

“Fuck, Oikawa,” he gasps out instead. Oikawa grinds down, swiveling his hips in a circular motion that sets Iwaizumi’s nerves on fire, and exhales a moan so arousing it makes his skin prickle. This is a position they both like, and Iwaizumi enjoys the view, especially with the luminous neon signs painting Oikawa’s skin as he rides him.

He’d be perfectly happy with all of this if it weren’t for that vexing thought at the back of his mind. Iwaizumi’s an idiot, really. He should know better, should be taking better care of himself. Not that Oikawa’s ever underperformed or done anything to purposely hurt him. It’s not Oikawa’s fault per se; if anything it’s Iwaizumi’s own. They made an agreement, and it’s him alone who couldn’t stick to it.

_Don’t get attached. It’s just sex._

Iwaizumi’s heart constricts at the thought of how badly he’d failed at taking his own advice. He was just fine the first few times; hurried, sloppy makeouts during lunchtime, brief, single-minded meetups after work.

When the quick hookups turned to long, languid nights that left Oikawa’s bedroom windows fogged up, Iwaizumi started questioning himself. When he finally opened his eyes to the fact that he had developed feelings for Oikawa, it was already too late. While Oikawa was wading in the shallows, Iwaizumi had unknowingly fallen into the deep end, no way out in sight.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs, suddenly slowing his pace, _Iwa-chan_ , like this isn’t another one of those nights where he’ll gently but deliberately kick him out once they’re finished. _Iwa-chan_ , like it means something. _Iwa-chan_ , like it’s the only name he’ll ever sigh this way again.

“Is something wrong?” Iwaizumi asks, loosening his hold on Oikawa’s hips, hands hovering between retreating and cradling Oikawa’s own in them. He hopes he didn’t notice he was spacing out.

Oikawa leans down into Iwaizumi’s space, stopping just ten centimeters shy of Iwaizumi’s mouth. It’s maddening.

“Let’s change positions,” Oikawa says, eyes firm, but the quiver of his lips betrays the hesitancy in his words.

Iwaizumi leans up on his arms. “The usual, then?”

Oikawa pushes him back into the sheets. “No, I… let’s try something else this time.”

Iwaizumi swallows, his mouth dry. “What do you wanna do?”

A dark flush graces Oikawa’s face and chest, and he bites his lip like he’s unsure of how to phrase it. “Um, let me get on my back? I want to lie down.”

“Oh.” Iwaizumi’s heart stutters in his chest, warmth curling in his stomach. He imagines Oikawa spread out under him, shielded from the harsh neon lights, only for him to see, to touch. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. It’d be a lie to say he hasn’t been thinking about them doing it like that. “Okay.”

Oikawa gives him a small nod before pulling up and off, giving Iwaizumi space to readjust. Iwaizumi winces at the cool air washing over his sensitive cock, but the sensation is quickly pushed to the far back of his mind. He keeps his eyes on Oikawa, waiting for him to lie down and get comfortable. The bed springs creak, hushed directions exchanged in the brief seconds in between … and then it’s Iwaizumi’s turn to hesitate.

They’ve never done it missionary. It’s one of Oikawa’s rules — “I don’t really like it. Feels too personal, you know? Too intimate.” _Too risky_. But now he’s on his back, thighs wide open, hands reaching for Iwaizumi’s, but he’s pulling him closer by the sheer intensity of his gaze.

Iwaizumi’s throat is tight. “Are you sure?” he asks. _I don’t want you to regret this._

Oikawa lightly runs his palms over Iwaizumi’s forearms before closing his fingers around his wrists to tug at him, coaxing him into climbing on top of him. Their thighs brush and Iwaizumi shudders, his heart pounding in his chest. Oikawa’s breath hits his face when he answers, his voice trembling, a minuscule earthquake. “I’m sure. I want this, Iwa-chan. Want _you_.”

Fuck. Iwaizumi’s stomach drops like a stone, and a fresh wave of arousal rolls over him, hot and fast. “Okay. Okay,” he breathes. “Me, too.” There isn’t much else he can say; his brain’s a mess, all his thoughts circle around Oikawa, his body, pliant and aching for him, his eyes, dark and warm and wonderfully hazy, his lips and _I love you_ , and _please love me, too_.

Kissing Oikawa feels like a crime. He makes a quiet noise, half sigh, half moan, arms snaking around Iwaizumi’s back to bring him closer, and Iwaizumi, utterly defenseless in the face of Oikawa’s desire, follows without question. He kisses him, easy and slow, and Oikawa’s already waiting for him when he teases his lips open to slip his tongue into Oikawa’s mouth, tasting, feeling all of him.

He hates how they fit together so perfectly, Oikawa’s lips slotted against his, the space between his thighs just wide enough for Iwaizumi’s hips, the feeling of them pressed together like this so undeniably right. His heart contracts painfully, reminding him of the fact that it isn’t, not for Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan, I need you. Inside,” Oikawa rasps, lips shiny with their shared spit. One of his hands wraps around Iwaizumi’s cock and strokes, thumb flicking teasingly over the head in the way he knows Iwaizumi likes, shamelessly exploiting his knowledge of his body. “Please, please fuck me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi lets out a groan, hips instinctively thrusting into Oikawa’s palm, chasing after that delicious friction, spurred on by Oikawa’s words. Oikawa indulges him for a moment, working him with his hand while scattering kisses across Iwaizumi’s shoulders. He’s intoxicating, his scent, his breath hot on Iwaizumi’s neck, his fingers squeezing gently around his cock, and Iwaizumi has to take a deep breath and pull away to keep himself in check.

As much as he loves feeling it on him, he gently pries Oikawa’s hand away and instead laces their fingers together, pushes Oikawa’s hand back into the pillows by his head, and covers his lips with another deep kiss. Maybe the gesture is a little too romantic, but he figures Oikawa wouldn’t let him get away with it if he did mind. He scoots up on the bed, Oikawa’s thighs on either side of his hips, and lines himself up against his entrance. Oikawa’s kisses grow more insistent, biting, impatient, yearning. Iwaizumi briefly considers trying to prolong it, talk Oikawa into just kissing for a while or going slow, but guilt eats at him, reminding him that in Oikawa’s book, this doesn’t mean anything to either of them. There’s no room for romance.

He still wants to make Oikawa feel good. With his free hand, the one that’s not holding down Oikawa’s, he lifts Oikawa’s hips a little, giving them a better angle. With a gentle squeeze of his fingers, he pushes in slowly, gasping when tight heat envelops him once more.

“You know I can take it, Iwa-chan, just— _ah_ —” A tremor wracks his body as Iwaizumi buries himself to the hilt in one smooth motion, the slide easy from before, and stills to catch his breath, skin prickling, heart racing. “Iwa-chan—” Oikawa chokes on his own spit, nails digging into the back of Iwaizumi’s hand.

“You okay?”

Their eyes meet in the dark, the air practically flickering between them, and the neon seeping in through the window looks so much softer now, red and pink and purple speckling the headboard and Oikawa’s hair — like stars. Oikawa smiles up at him; it’s an open sort of smile, vulnerable and sincere.

“Don’t hold back. You know I can take it, Iwa-chan,” comes his reply, followed by an encouraging thrust of his hips. “And … I’m always okay when I’m with you.”

A lump has formed in Iwaizumi’s throat, rendering him unable to say anything in response. So instead he does as asked of him. By habit he moves slowly at first, careful, but when a whine rises in Oikawa’s throat he picks up the pace, trusting Oikawa’s judgment more than his own.

Iwaizumi lets go of Oikawa’s hand to hook both of his arms under his thighs, using the leverage to go just that tiny bit deeper. Oikawa moans some sort of encouragement, his eyes screwing shut while his hands rove over Iwaizumi’s back, leaving white hot trails of sensation in their wake. A thin sheen of sweat coats their bodies and the neon lights paint them kaleidoscopic colors. Iwaizumi can’t help but stare.

He understands now, why Oikawa doesn’t usually like this position. There’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to look but at the flex of Oikawa’s abs each time he takes him in, the beads of sweat on his neck, begging to be kissed off, the shadows cast by his lashes, the shape of Oikawa’s lips or the beauty mark that sits in the dip of his collarbones. There’s no running from his feelings like this, and they crash into him like meteors, weighing him down, strangling him. It’d be so much easier if they were on the same page. It’d be better, too, if Iwaizumi just ended it, but part of him knows he’s too selfish to do that. If this is the only way to be with Oikawa, he’ll tough it out.

Iwaizumi snaps his hips harder, trying to keep those poisonous thoughts at bay. He doesn’t want Oikawa to notice, doesn’t want to ruin this for him. It’s all just about feeling good together, even if it means forcing emotions out of the picture. At least when they’re together like this, the only times they’re really together outside of work, he wants to give his undivided attention to Oikawa, to make it as good for him as he can. Even if this won’t last forever, it’d be nice if Oikawa remembered it in a positive light.

Oikawa cries out, hands clutching at Iwaizumi’s biceps, his shoulders, then his cheeks. When he opens his eyes, the heat of his gaze is enough for Iwaizumi’s rhythm to falter, his hips stutter for a moment before he picks himself up again, and when he angles his thrusts a little differently, Oikawa gives another sharp cry, mouth falling open, head thrown back into the pillows.

“Right there, Iwa-chan, oh god, don’t stop, Iwa—” Oikawa’s voice breaks, but it’s fine, he doesn’t need to tell Iwaizumi twice. He keeps the rhythm and angle going and slips one of his hands between their bodies to grip Oikawa’s cock, giving it some much deserved attention. Oikawa keens, arches his back into it, as he works him with his hand, fast-paced and sure. Precome slips through his fingers, oozing from where he presses his thumb against the slit, and his own cock throbs inside of Oikawa as he squeezes around him, pulling at him, bringing him closer to his release.

“Feels so good, Iwa-chan, you feel amazing,” Oikawa gasps, “you’re so—ah—”

Iwaizumi hits his prostate with practiced ease, his lips latching onto Oikawa’s neck to kiss and suck at the sensitive skin, wishing he could leave lasting marks for everyone to see. He can feel Oikawa’s vocal cords vibrate each time he stumbles over his own words, taste the salt on his skin. He’s close, the heat in his gut coiling in on itself, threatening to spill over. All of his senses are overcharged, body buzzing like he’s hooked to a battery, and Oikawa’s babbled words almost go over his head. Somehow, though, one of them makes it through to him.

“Hajime.”

Iwaizumi’s insides freeze. His heart skips a beat and he can’t help but snap his head up to look at Oikawa, eyes wide and blood rushing in his ears. Oikawa’s never called him by his given name, not at work and not in bed. The shock gives way to blistering arousal, filling Iwaizumi’s brain with images of Oikawa, moaning his name over and over, breathless with want.

“Hajime,” Oikawa sobs again, barely more than a strained whisper, “Hajime, kiss me, I’m so close. I need you, need you so bad.”

Iwaizumi’s insides are on fire. His heart pounds in his chest, hard enough to make him feel like his ribs are going to crack. _Hajime_.

This kiss isn’t like the ones before. It’s different; desperate and messy and wet. Oikawa’s crying for real now, arms wrapped tightly around Iwaizumi’s neck. Pleasure keeps building inside of Iwaizumi, the sensation so good it’s nearing painful, and when Oikawa exhales another shaky moan of his name, he knows he’s reached his limit.

“I’m gonna— let me pull out—”

Oikawa’s hold on him doesn’t let up. His voice pitches higher, he must be just as close. “Hajime, I want it—come inside,” he begs, “please, please—”

The groan Iwaizumi lets out gets muffled when Oikawa presses their mouths together again, and it’s too good, _too much_ , and he comes first, shuddering violently as he’s pulled under, shock waves wracking his body. He loses his rhythm but keeps thrusting up into Oikawa, jerking him off at the same time, while Oikawa clings to him like a lifeline, teeth sinking into Iwaizumi’s shoulder to try and stifle his moans. The high leaves Iwaizumi winded, on edge, vision fuzzy. Everything is Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa.

“C’mon, Tooru,” he mutters, trying to keep up the rhythm for Oikawa’s sake  even though he’s getting a little overstimulated.

There’s a moment of silent eye contact between them, at the mention of Oikawa’s name. Something flashes behind Oikawa’s chocolate brown eyes. It might be realization on Oikawa’s part or surprise or a mixture of both, but Oikawa doesn’t say which, he just keeps his eyes on Iwaizumi as he lets him take him apart.

It only takes a few more thrusts until Oikawa bites out a curse and tenses, and then he’s coming too, hot and thick, between them. His nails dig into Iwaizumi’s back, hard enough for it to sting. Iwaizumi helps him through it, slowing his thrusts and flicks of his wrist gradually, until Oikawa gives an exhausted groan and goes limp like a ragdoll, flopping back into the sheets, pulling Iwaizumi down with him.

Foreheads pressed together, Iwaizumi inhales lungfuls of laundry detergent, Oikawa’s scent, and air lacking batantly in oxygen. The concoction goes to his head, making him feel like he’s floating.

When Oikawa stirs and makes a noise that can only be interpreted as appalled, Iwaizumi’s hand fumbles for the tissue box on Oikawa’s nightstand. When he finally gets a hold of it, he wipes off Oikawa’s sticky chest and then pulls out carefully, making sure to catch anything that might drip onto the sheets. Once that’s taken care of he flops back down, draping himself across Oikawa.

They stick together for a while, Oikawa’s chest still heaving from the intensity of his orgasm. Iwaizumi presses a soft kiss to his lips, the endorphins in his system lending him the courage.

Oikawa reciprocates immediately.

Iwaizumi kisses him again, seizing the rare opportunity to bask in the sweet afterglow haze he is usually denied.

He is overcome with that telltale, sleepy sort of heaviness, the one that makes him never want to get back up again. Why would he want to, with Oikawa right there, their legs tangled together on the bed and the only sound the beat of their hearts? Oikawa is warm and the air in the room is suddenly cool, so Iwaizumi allows himself to hold onto him, hiding from the inevitable for as long as he can.

Lithe fingers slide into Iwaizumi’s mussed hair, combing through it lazily. Oikawa hums to himself while he alternates between gently scratching and massaging his scalp. Iwaizumi can’t quite relax into it, knowing that he’s probably just humoring him here; Oikawa isn’t all that tactile after they have sex, usually, and he isn’t much of a cuddler either. Still, selfishly, Iwaizumi takes all he is willing to offer, drinks it in like a man who has been wandering through a desert, thirsty for even a single drop of water. He knows better, of course. It’s only a matter of time until they’ll get up and get dressed, and Oikawa is going to bite his lip and thank him with a cheeky wink, and he’ll usher him out the door and slide the lock into place behind him.

The room feels strangely small. It’s not; nothing about Oikawa’s apartment is small. The furniture, his kitchen space, his bed, all of it is big and luxurious, all tailored specifically to Oikawa’s expensive tastes. The windows are big, too, inviting in the lights from the outside world. They’re the reason Iwaizumi can see, the reason he can watch Oikawa slowly open his eyes and give him a little smile.

“I’m seriously spent. That was so good, Iwa-chan,” he says, a sleepy lilt to his voice. Iwaizumi knows this. He anticipates Oikawa’s next words with a sinking feeling to his heart, knowing of course, where this is headed. It’s either, “Let yourself out?” or “Can you close the blinds before you leave? I’ll probably pass out in a sec.”

Instead, Oikawa caresses Iwaizumi’s bicep, thumb rubbing gently over the bumps of his muscles. His eyes flit to the window. “How late is it?”

The alarm clock on Oikawa’s nightstand flashes a red one-thirty at him. He tells Oikawa as much.

“Oh. My bad, Iwa-chan. I didn’t mean to hold you up this long,” Oikawa giggles.

Something is off. Oikawa’s laugh isn’t its usual tone, it’s … odd. It’s too quiet, too light. Oikawa wraps his arms around him and rolls them over so they’re on their sides, facing each other.

“Is there a way for you to get home at this hour?”

Iwaizumi swallows. There it is. He’s been waiting for it. “I guess. I can catch the bus in fifteen minutes if I hurry.”

It takes a long moment for Oikawa to reply. “Oh, that’s good then,” he says.

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi bites his tongue. There’s something he meant to ask before leaving, if only to clear up any misunderstandings that might arise, but he isn’t sure if Oikawa would welcome the question. He seemed nervous about it earlier, like he couldn’t decide if it wasn’t something he’d regret after all. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he did, but he could never be fully sure, with Oikawa. Maybe it would be better to leave it be, lest he make things worse. Oikawa looks so content and sated, and there isn’t really anything to be gained from disrupting the peace, so he decides against it eventually.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and untangles himself from Oikawa. Better to get through with it quick and painless. “I’ll get going then.” He sits up without waiting for a reply, scanning the bedroom floor for his clothes. He locates them by the door, crumpled, shed in a hurry. While he gets dressed he avoids looking at the bed, at Oikawa, to stay on track, to keep himself sane. Too many times did he have to resist the urge to climb back onto the bed with him, to make up an excuse to stay the night while entranced by his silhouette sitting there, silken sheets pooling around his waist, eyes gleaming in the dark.

As he’s about to say goodnight, the bed springs creak and Oikawa gets up. At least he’s going to unlock the front door for him, Iwaizumi thinks bitterly. But when Oikawa steps back into his underwear and walks over to him, he makes no move to let him out.

“Iwa-chan, wait. I’ve been thinking … I mean, if you’re really okay with it, then forget I said anything, but, wouldn’t it be safer… Iwa-chan’s pretty strong, but there are all sorts of shady people out there at night and your place is so far away…”

Iwaizumi’s heart skips a beat. He has to force himself to not jump immediately at the implications behind Oikawa’s statement. He schools his face into an expression as neutral as he can make it. “This is the first time you’ve ever shown concern for my well-being,” he says. “Why start now, Shittykawa?”

The insult doesn’t come out the way it usually does. It’s too soft, too affectionate to hold any sort of real anger. Oikawa must have noticed, since he doesn’t even protest. He reaches for Iwaizumi’s hand and Iwaizumi lets him take it, taken aback by the strange turn of events. Oikawa’s never tried to hold him back, and to speak the truth, Iwaizumi is a little frightened. He can’t believe they’re going to have this conversation. He didn’t come prepared for a confrontation like this. Ideally, he had hoped to avoid it for as long as possible.

Oikawa stares at the floor, unaware of Iwaizumi’s inner turmoil. “I was just offering, you don’t have to stay if it weirds you out. I can be nice too, you know.”

Is that what’s going on here? Oikawa’s feeling obligated to be nice to him? That’s all kinds of fucked up.

“Listen, you don’t have to do anything. You don’t … owe me anything, got it?”

Oikawa lifts his head and meets Iwaizumi’s gaze, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He’s clearly uncomfortable. “No, that’s not what I meant, Iwa-chan. It’s just, every time you leave I feel like something’s not right, I can’t really explain it. I’ll go back to bed to try and sleep, but I’ll end up thinking about Iwa-chan all the same, and each time I feel like you shouldn’t be out there. Iwa-chan should be here.” Oikawa squeezes his hand, fingers cold. “Here with me.”

Iwaizumi’s pulse is racing. Is Oikawa saying what he thinks he’s saying? He can’t tell if this is reality or if he’s just having a vivid fever dream.

“Is there a reason you wanted to do it missionary tonight?” Iwaizumi asks. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, but he also hadn’t expected Oikawa to ambush him like this. This is as good a time to ask as any.

Oikawa blushes, like they weren’t having sex minutes ago. It’s endearing. “I thought … I mean, I did say I didn’t like it. I always thought it wasn’t fitting for this sort of thing we’ve got going, I was … scared that something would change if I let feelings get in the way and since it’s so widely associated with romance I didn’t want to run the risk…”

Iwaizumi can’t quite keep up with Oikawa’s rambling, but he thinks (hopes) he’s getting the gist of it. He slides his palm against Oikawa’s cheek, gently wiping at a lost eyelash. “But…?” he prompts.

“I realized a while ago, that there was no longer a reason to lie to myself. I like you, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa stares at his feet, knuckles turning white from how tightly he’s clenching his fists. “I think it was when you came over to take care of me when I had the flu last month, despite there being nothing in it for you. I thought about how sweet and caring you were and how nice it would feel to have you by my side, and how I found myself wanting to spend time with you instead of just meeting up for sex. So I wanted to do it at least once, like that, with you. Pretend for a night. Sorry if I made it weird, Iwa-chan. We don’t have to keep this up if you don’t want to. I crossed a line there, and I know this doesn’t mean anything to you, so I’m sorry. I just wanted to say that.”

Iwaizumi’s thoughts are racing a mile a minute. He needs Oikawa to stop changing course so quickly, needs time to process all of the information Oikawa has just thrown at him. Oikawa likes him. Oikawa _likes_ him. For lack of a better answer, Iwaizumi takes his face in his hands and leans up to kiss him. When he pulls back, Oikawa’s eyes are watery.

“Don’t say something like that and then try to take it back,” Iwaizumi starts. “It wasn’t weird. I wanted it, too. I _want_ to stay. God, I’ve wanted to for so long. I want you, Tooru. I want to be with you.”

Oikawa inhales sharply, raggedly. “Iwa-chan, don’t lie to me, please. You don’t have to act like—”

Iwaizumi cuts him off with another kiss. “I’m not lying, dumbass. You know I’d never do that. Do you think I want to hurt you?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “No. But—”

“No buts, Oikawa. Tooru … I’m in love with you. Have been for a long time. What you said just now, shit. That made me so fucking happy, do you know that?”

A single tear runs down Oikawa’s cheek, and Iwaizumi wipes it away, fighting the urge to join in and shed a couple of them. His heart is full to the brim, beating a rapid staccato, and he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to process the fact that this is real, that Oikawa just confessed to his feelings for him, and that Iwaizumi wasn’t the only one suffering all this time.

Oikawa’s fingers flutter against his hand, hopeful. “So you’re for real?”

“I meant every word I said.”

Oikawa gives him a wobbly smile. “So you’ll stay the night? Is that a yes?”

Iwaizumi shrugs off his jacket. Then he gathers Oikawa into his arms, picks him up and carries him back to the bed.

He’ll stay the night, and the night after that too. He’ll stay, so they’ll wake up next to each other, Oikawa’s arm draped over Iwaizumi’s chest. He feels the need to apologize for not saying anything earlier, but Oikawa seems to sense what’s up, and he tells him to keep it to himself until the next day.

“I just want to cuddle tonight. I’ll get pissed at Iwa-chan for keeping secrets from me over breakfast, but you can do the dishes as an apology. And after that you have to take me out on a date. Your treat,” he adds with a tired smile, curling against Iwaizumi’s side.

Iwaizumi is fine with all of this. There’s nothing that could ruin the elation of holding Oikawa close, finally, while feeling himself fall asleep, knowing he’ll still be there in the morning.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was written as a tumblr fill for the prompt 'neon lights at 1:30 a.m." and i'm terribly rusty with my nsfw so i apologize if anything is off! i hope it turned out okay! <3 (sidenote: i might come back to this and tweak some minor things when i've let it rest a bit)  
> [tumblr](http://lumiellle.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/_lumielle)


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